SILVER BULLET ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

━ i

Nobleness in death is not easy to seek out, and yet, Arthur Morgan finds it with such proficiency that it scares even himself.

Arthur sits on the ground, backpack tossed to his left, back leaned bodily against the wall of the building behind him. The sight around him is not a pretty one, but satisfying nonetheless. He's surrounded by countless dead bodies of Infected, and it's only his and Charles' work.

The pain in his left leg is unbearable, but Arthur makes no sound to show it. He dreads the truth about his injury more than he dreads the feeling of it in his flesh. It's an infected bite he must've acquired sometime within the past hour.

He knows what he has to do. It only takes roughly thirty seconds of staring in horror at the ugly, oozing semicircle of torn flesh on his calf. And then, realization, along with a thought he deems worthy of his gang and companions arrives. Arthur will go down a warrior, a fitting end to his gruesome life. He will kill and protect until his dying breath.

He likes the idea.

The body of a zombie he'd considered dead twitches, just a step away from him, and so does Arthur, before he retrieves his pocket knife in one swift motion and digs it into the creature's skull. Now it certainly is dead, both inside and out.

The thought of him one day looking like the dead bodies around him is haunting. Arthur doesn't like it - it would imply he's part of the entire problem, after all. He doesn't even want to think about the conversation he's had with Lenny a day or two ago, about how the boy suggested the Infected may very well still be sentient, but with a lack of control over their bodies.

Now that, that is worse than being part of the problem.

His entire life, he has tried to be useful. To his family, to Dutch, to the gang. Should he become the very thing he'd sworn to kill and protect his loved ones from? No.

But killing himself is a cowardly option, at least in his good opinion. Cowardly because there's still something, a last final thing he can do for the Van Der Linde gang. For the people that took him in and raised him when the outbreak started.

Besides, he knows the drill if Dutch finds out about his current state. He's seen it with Sean, Jenny, Bessie, and others that had once been a part of the gang but ended up infected. One last goodbye from all the gang members, followed by a mercy killing executed by Dutch. He does not want that. Not because he wouldn't like it, because he really, truly does, but he sees no objective use in it. He would leave his family in pain, and without having made himself useful one last time. Selfish.

Arthur Morgan isn't raised to be selfish, and he is planning on proving that one last time.

"You okay there?" The voice of Charles rings out from above him. Arthur has to suppress a surprised flinch as he nervously readjusts the pant of his left leg and gives a quick nod.

"Sure." With a wet, gruesome sound, he tears his blade out of the dead zombie's skull. "Jus'...needed a moment, after all o' this." He gestures at the crowd of dead Infected around the abandoned supermarket.

Speaking of which, Charles does not look like he has been very successful at looting said building. His colleague's backpack looks only slightly fuller than when he entered.

"Find anythin'?" Arthur changes the subject.

"Not much." Charles sighs and shakes his head. "Looks like Dutch was wrong about there being a lot of canned food in here. Not that that's anything new, as of late."

Arthur nods in acknowledgment, staring down at his bloodied pocket knife. He wipes it off on the torn shirt of the dead zombie beside him. A ugly, cynical part of him feels relieved at the realization that he will not have to witness Dutch's descent into a man he does not recognize anymore, unless it happens within the upcoming two days, by some miracle. Which he doubts.

"Did you hear Dutch's other plan? He wants to-"

Arthur props himself against the wall behind him as he stands up. "Rob the military of their guns and supplies, I know."

"It's pure madness."

Arthur feels inclined to agree.

He's not sure if he's only imagining an unfamiliar sting in his wound, or if it actually is there. Hardened by life and circumstance, Arthur knows how to handle pain, no matter how intense, and keep a cool head. But the bite is something else. He feels dizzy, afraid to put pressure on his injured leg, as if his bones were suddenly made of porcelain.

It takes everything out of him to conceal the limping in his step.

"You look pale." Charles speaks up, ever so attentive. He considers his friend's finesse for details both a blessing and a curse.

"Didn't eat much today." Arthur answers and shrugs to seem nonchalant. Truth is, his heart speeds up at the mere thought of the bite, of the infection already flowing through his bloodstream. He's scared.

Should he tell Charles? Or anyone at all, for that matter?

He should. But only one person, a person that knows how to keep a secret. Arthur wants to make sure he will not partake in the gang's borderline ritualistic mercy killing.

However he can't bear the thought of disappearing without letting his family know he was a lost cause, lest they start looking for him. The gang putting themselves in danger for the sake of a dead man walking is the last thing he wants.

He knows whom he should tell.

Hosea. Hosea can be trusted to stay silent until Arthur is not around anymore, and Hosea can be trusted to deal with the responsibility of knowing the truth. Hosea has grieved many times before, emotionally, he's the toughest of the entire bunch. It will not be easy for his father figure, but the old man will make it. He has lost his wife, which, in Arthur's opinion, has got to hurt more than losing a surrogate son.

He is going to tell Hosea.

And then he's going to run, and kill every Infected that crosses his path.